The Mysterious Caravan by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

overheard.”
    â€œDo you know what happened to Tony?” Joe asked, and he told his father about his futile search for the truck.
    â€œNo,” Mr. Hardy replied. “But don’t panic, Joe. Maybe the truck broke down. Just stay there till he comes and then hurry home. It’s important.”
    â€œWhat is it, Dad?”
    But Mr. Hardy had clicked off.
    No sooner had Joe put the phone down, than he looked out the office window and saw Tony pull in. The boy parked and brought his toolbox inside.
    â€œWhere’ve you been, Tony?” Joe asked in an irritated tone. “You had me scared to death!”
    â€œFlat tire! It does happen now and then, you know.”
    â€œSorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Joe said, and his friend opened the toolbox to remove the mask.
    Alex Krusinsky looked it over carefully. “I can do a good job on this,” he finally said. “Call me tomorrow.”
    â€œAnd don’t forget,” Joe warned, “it’s strictly confidential.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I’ll do it myself.”
    The boys thanked him and left the office. On the way out Joe said, “Dad wants me to go right home for something important.”
    â€œMaybe word from the kidnappers?”
    â€œHe didn’t say.” Joe opened the door of his car. “Okay, chum, see you later. And thanks.”
    Both boys drove off, and Joe thought about his father’s cryptic message all the way home. He pulled into the driveway, having noticed a convertible parked in front. A man was slouched behind the wheel, with only his peaked cap showing.
    Joe entered through the kitchen door. As he went in, he could hear the conversation in the living room. The visitor had a mellifluous baritone voice that Joe could not identify.
    The boy walked into the room and saw his parents and Aunt Gertrude having tea with atall, handsome man. The suave, sun-tanned stranger was introduced to Joe as Elroy Abrams, a representative of the Jamaican Consulate. He rose to shake hands, then sat down again, crossed his legs comfortably, and looked Joe directly in the eye.
    â€œI’ll brief you quickly on my mission,” he said. “Our government was alerted to the fact that you found an ancient mask on the beach in Jamaica. It is in the police report after the beating of Ali El Ansari. I have come to reclaim that mask. It belongs to the people of our country, you know.”
    â€œWe were going to send it later, Mr. Abrams,” Joe said lamely. Through his mind flashed the question: What if this man demanded the mask right now? And how would they satisfy the kidnappers? Should he tell the whole story to Abrams?
    The man went on, “You should not have kept it at all!”
    â€œWe tried to return it before our flight home,” Joe said. “But we ran into some trouble.” He did not elaborate further. “Anyway, we got on the airplane with it. Just in time, too, I might say.”
    The man smiled ingratiatingly. “You won’t be in any trouble if you turn it over to me now.”
    Joe perspired. “What a box I’m in!” he thought.
    He was interrupted by the sound of Frank’sfootsteps as he came through the front door and entered the living room. Frank was introduced to Abrams; then he looked nervously at his father.
    â€œDad, I must speak to you alone. Could you come upstairs for a minute? It’s important.”
    Frank smiled at the caller. “You will excuse us, Mr. Abrams, but it’s something that can’t wait.”
    The man nodded amiably and addressed Laura Hardy, saying that she had two mighty fine sons.
    When Frank and his father entered the study and closed the door behind them, the boy pulled a letter from his pocket. It was sent by air-mail, special delivery.
    â€œI intercepted the postman on the sidewalk,” Frank said. “It’s from Sam Radley.”
    As Mr. Hardy slit it open, he said, “We’re